


No, I Never Told Lies To You

by fourfreedoms



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: 2017-2018 NHL Season, M/M, Post-Game
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-21
Updated: 2019-03-10
Packaged: 2019-03-22 01:28:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13753371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fourfreedoms/pseuds/fourfreedoms
Summary: And then there was Patrick, head turning, drawing Jon’s eyes in powerful magnetic flux, the slow smile dawning into a grin, and all Jon could think, as his heart burst in his chest, amidst the sound of the dagger and the cheers they hadn’t heard in far too long, was, oh. Oh.Sometimes it takes being hit over the head with it to realize the most important things.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A little game coda inspired by [this celly](https://twitter.com/NHLBlackhawks/status/965063885358321667) during the Blackhawk's 7-1 drubbing of the Caps. 
> 
> The title comes from Maroon 5's song "It Was Always You," which is a thoroughly ridiculously track, but suits the mood of this piece perfectly, so I suggest you listen to it while watching that celly. 
> 
> This is probably a mess, it's unbeta'd, although both sorrylatenew and cooliofoolioz were kind enough to tell me it wasn't trash.

He just didn’t want it to get to nine. 

He remembered nine all too well: 23 years old, only five seasons into the NHL, four as captain, he’d felt so old, with so much weight on his shoulders, head pounding, seeing double, and they just couldn’t buy a game. Putting any stretch of losing games together felt terrible. Losing just one felt terrible. But nine took him right back to what felt like another life, a mistake he’d put firmly in the rear view mirror. Nine was being afraid to acknowledge what his head was telling him for any multitude of reasons, because they were losing, because of his duty as captain, but secretly shamefully, mostly for himself. All he could think of was Marc Savard’s career coming to a grinding halt only a year before, the words out of Chiarelli’s mouth (“unlikely to ever play again”) too easy to imagine out of Stan’s, and how that just couldn’t be him when they’d only barely begun something here. This time he wasn’t playing through injury, he was playing through two and a half seasons of low point totals, and worried about how he was gonna keep his head together in that room every day. 

There were four other guys who’d been on the team for nine, a fucking historic nine he thought with no little touch of asperity, but only one he felt truly understood what it had been like. _Heavy is the head that wears the crown_. A person sitting across the dressing room, no doubt thinking, ‘I can’t let it go to six.’ Six games without a point. Patrick Kane’s longest drought ever. 

Patrick looked up and met his gaze and Jon pressed his lips together, and nodded. 

It had to end here. They weren’t tying up any old statistics and they certainly weren’t going to create new ones. 

*

People on the team ribbed Jon’s boundless optimism, the power of positivity, he’d always been that way, although he hadn’t always applied it in ways his teammates could understand. Like lots of yelling at them and himself. But he hadn’t really started to believe until he got the puck in the neutral zone when he was supposed to be coming off on a change, and there was Patrick at his flank, racing up the ice on the rush, like a missing part slotting back into place on a machine that had been forgotten. This one was going in, one way or another. He took the shot, rebound, and there was Patrick to bang it home. Jon had skated into the boards, no brakes, in sheer elation. 

And then there was Patrick, head turning, drawing Jon’s eyes in powerful magnetic flux, the slow smile dawning into a grin, and all Jon could think, as his heart burst in his chest, amidst the sound of the dagger and the cheers they hadn’t heard in far too long, was, oh. _Oh_.

How had he never realized? Blue eyes, strong hands, broad shoulders, and that smile.

_Of course._

It buzzed through him, for the rest of the game, every look, every accidental brush on the bench even through layers of pads, until it felt like it was thundering inside him, and every word out of his mouth felt almost dazed. 

_Am I insane?_ he wondered dizzily, keeping his attention on the media scrum through sheer force of will. He didn’t know how you missed something this big, this consuming, all along. But he kept poking and prodding at the feeling inside of him, trying to feel around its edges and all answers came up the same. And then that thought was followed with, _am I alone?_

He couldn’t stop himself for searching Patrick out then, only to find him already looking back. 

*

Patrick shoulders him into the trainer’s room as soon as Jon has his suit jacket pulled on and his coat over his arm. The coat hits the floor as soon as Patrick’s hand slides up to cup his jaw. 

“Can I kiss you?” he asks and Jon answers by pressing his mouth to Patrick’s, careful and tentative, unsure of what to do of his hands, because he’s never kissed a man and he has no ideas what the rules are. And then Patrick exhales, lips parting, slipping Jon tongue with the hint of a smile. 

Jon tastes Patrick, draws the scent and feel of him in, and now he’ll always know like he used to know where Patrick was going to be for that cross-ice pass, shouldering aside all the old details that used to make up his reference point of the only other person who truly understood what it was like to be him on the Blackhawks. The prickle of his stubble-covered jaw, the sound he makes when Jon tightens his arm around the small of his back, like he’s startled to like it. 

Chest-to-chest and thigh-to-thigh, mouths moving together, it feels like the stomach-dropping sensation of going over the edge of a rollercoaster into the first heartline roll in the same moment that it’s somehow familiar, two bodies that know each other so well, just not in this context. He doesn’t want it to stop, the clever slick stroke of Patrick’s tongue against his own, or the way his thumb draws circles on Jon’s jaw.

They’ve been in here too long. Somebody will come looking, so he slides his mouth away. They went this long. What’s a few more minutes of waiting?

“I had to know,” Patrick says, blinking his heavily-lashed eyes. 

Jon is turned around enough already, unsure of what Patrick means, if he’s as blindsided as Jon or not. All he musters up is a befuddled, “What?” 

“If it was a sex thing or not,” Patrick says. Jon stares down at him. “You’ve been here for all the most important moments of my life, coulda just been an ‘I love you, man’ thing.” 

He thinks of that quote in Quick’s article all those years ago: “You’re paranoid that Kane is going to float back door and Toews is going to know he’s there without even looking up.”

 _Gotten a little rusty, eh, baby?_ , he thinks bemused. He hadn’t even gotten that far ahead. Or maybe he’d gotten too far ahead. The errant thought, ‘I want to spend the rest of my life with you,’ having definitely crossed his mind at some point during the second and the third periods. But, sex was probably an important milestone on that journey.

“Wouldn’t hurt to find out,” he says before he kisses Patrick again, feeling the sweet rush of it beat through his veins. Although he thinks he already knows, this will work, they’ll make it work. If it’s anything like this fucking headrush of a kiss, they won’t even have to try. He pulls away again. “How bad could it be?” 

Patrick quirks a brow. “I dunno, for somebody used to driving fully automatic, going stick sounds like it could end in disaster.” 

Jon blinks down at him. “C’mon, you mean, you’ve never—” 

“With a guy?” Patrick asks, voice going a little pitchy. 

“—thought about it,” Jon finishes. 

Patrick shrugs and rubs at the back of his neck, like he’s debating what to admit. “Was it Michael Keaton? Not just a man crush? I knew there was no way you could prefer those movies without something else going on,” Jon teases. 

“No, it was you, moron, obviously,” Patrick replies, red in his cheeks and across the bridge of his nose. “But there’s a difference between thinking about it and actually doing it, and I didn’t know where you were with the whole thing, so…” he clears his throat. “Have you uh—have you actually—”

Jon shakes his head, hooks his finger in one of Patrick’s belt loops so his meaning is plain. “Only one person I can think of borrowing that kind of trouble for.” 

Patrick kisses him again and then groans, pulling himself away. “Fuck, I said I’d do dinner with my family.” 

Jon wants to be responsible and tell him this can wait. He doesn’t do that. “Cancel.” 

Patrick laughs. Jon expects him to say he can’t, but he shakes his head. “Jesus, I’m gonna get it later. Meet you back at yours?” 

Jon nods.

*

It’s barely 45 minutes between leaving the UC and Patrick calling to say he parked. He’s changed into sweats and a t-shirt and then starts rattling around his apartment, wondering what’s actually going to happen next. He hasn’t been this nervous since they were announcing the hockey rosters for Sochi and everybody had gotten that phone call except him. Figures he’d be on a four year rotation. 

_But it always comes up good._

He does have faith in that. He breathes out, gets himself a beer, and settles down on his couch in front of the TV to wait. 

Patrick lets himself in with the keys he has to Jon’s place and Jon listens to the deliberate sound of his dress shoes on the floor as he hangs up his coat and hat, before moving across the floor to close the gap between them. 

“What are you watching?” Patrick asks, nodding at the television when he moves into sight. He leans forward and snakes Jon’s beer to take a long swallow, wincing when the IPA hits his tongue in a way that makes Jon smile. 

“There’s a War Horse wheat beer in the fridge leftover from New Years,” he says. 

“Nah,” Patrick says, taking another draw on Jon’s. “Didn’t really come here to drink.” 

“No, I suppose not,” Jon says. He takes the bottle back and before he can even set it back down, Patrick is kissing him again. He keeps trying to set it on the edge of the table, but with his attention caught, his nerveless fingers miss by a mile. 

The bottle clatters off the edge of the table, hitting the floor with a hollow thud. Distantly he processes the sound of beer fizzing out over the hardwood. 

“I should clean that up,” he mumbles into Patrick’s mouth. 

Patrick hums consideringly, but he doesn’t let up, bearing Jon down onto his back and taking advantage of the ease of access that Jon’s clothes affords to slip his hand past his waistband, closing it around his cock. Jon groans and arches. He wants to shout that he’s two months away from thirty. He doesn’t need to dry hump on his sofa like this, but here he is, sliding his hands down Patrick’s back, tugging their hips together. 

“Oh fuck, I can’t believe—” Patrick breathes against his ear and then breaks off. 

“I have a really nice bed,” Jon tells him, nipping at his ear and along his jaw as he finally gets his fingers past Patrick’s belt.

“Mmm, I know,” Patrick replies, chuckling. “ ‘Optimal sleep for optimal performance.’” 

“We could go there,” he says, even as he tugs Patrick’s fly open and gets his own hand on Patrick’s cock. It’s thick and hot in his hand, vulnerable head wet and sticky against his palm, and all of a sudden Jon needs to see it. 

He shoves Patrick back. 

“Wha—” Patrick breathes, startled, sitting back on his heels. He makes a picture with his blue eyes gone hazy, pants pulled taut across his thighs, and his erection jutting obscenely out of them. His tongue swipes out over his lower lip. 

Jon swallows. “Bedroom,” he says firmly. He makes himself get up to deal with the spilled mess of beer, grabbing a handful of paper towels from the kitchen. But Patrick doesn’t make it easy, stripping off his dress shirt button by button, folding it over the couch and following it up with his trousers. Soon all he’s got on is the chain he always wears around his neck. It catches the light, flaring gold against his pale skin. He leans back against the couch, nonchalant in his nakedness while Jon kneels on the floor trying to wipe it free of alcohol. 

“Are you stalling?” Patrick asks, biceps crossed over his chest, staring at Jon below heavily lidded eyes. His expression is unreadable.

“No, you spilled beer on my floor.” 

“I? I spilled beer.” 

“By proxy, I would argue,” Jon says and gives up trying to mop up the floor with the sodden paper towels. He gets up to toss them out and wash his hands. 

Patrick comes up behind him in the kitchen, hands coming up to bracket his waist. Jon’s immediate thought is to jump away from it, but he doesn’t have to do that, he realizes. Nobody’s there to get the wrong idea about it being a little gay. It _is_ gay. How many times have they done that dance over the years. God, too many to count, he thinks. 

“You nervous?” Patrick asks, lips skimming the skin just above his collar. 

Jon places his palm down on top of one of Patrick’s. “Yes, of course, how could I not be? Aren’t you?” 

Patrick hums a small affirmative. “What if you hate it?”

“I’m pretty good with my right hand,” Jon says. “What you think I’d bank my life on _you_ being good in bed?” Only belatedly realizing what he'd just said. Fuck.

Patrick chuckles behind him, dark and deep. It tugs at a place low in Jon’s belly. “Careful, Jon.” 

“Of?” he asks, drying off his hands and turning in Patrick’s arms. He keeps his face neutral, glad that Patrick seemed to miss his implied promise of eternity.

Patrick kisses him again, framing his face in his hands and pressing him back against the lip of the sink, fucking his mouth with tender flicks of his tongue, making Jon dizzy all over again. Jon runs his hands down his back and tugs, pulling their hips together, showing Patrick as best he can, whatever this is, he’s probably not going to hate it. The skin here is so soft and he can’t help dipping his fingers down under the swell of Patrick’s buttocks, skimming lightly, just learning him. Patrick groans into his mouth and then fingers his waistband again. 

“Can I?” he asks. 

Jon nods, all plans for his bedroom lost when Patrick shoves his sweats down under his balls and closes his hand around his cock a second time. Patrick holds his gaze, fisting him slowly from base to tip, and Jon can’t take it, tugging him back in for another kiss. Patrick sucks and bites at his lower lip and starts to tug, slow at first, and then faster, swallowing all of Jon’s sounds as he does. 

Patrick rocks against Jon, cock sliding over his hip, and Jon pulls away and looks down. It’s obscene, Patrick’s hand curled around him, his own erection trapped between their bodies. 

“Just, jesus christ, the bedroom,” he begs, plaintively. He wants Patrick flat where he can touch him all over, see everything, get him spread out beneath him. 

He expects Patrick to tease him, but he doesn’t. He nods, lush lips swollen even fuller. “Just get this off,” he demands, shoving at Jon’s t-shirt. 

Jon practically tears his shirt off over his head and nearly trips over his sweatpants in his haste to get out of them and follow Patrick at the same time, but any indignity is worth it, when he’s braced over him on top of the covers, Patrick gasping into his mouth while he fists them together on spit and precome. 

“This is nasty,” he breathes, fisting his hands in Jon’s pillows, unable to stop lifting his head to stare at the two of them rubbing up against each other. 

Jon’s so wet it’s more than keeping Patrick slicked up, but he asks anyway. “Lemme know if it’s too much.” 

“N-no,” Patrick stutters. “Fuck, I like it just like this.” 

Patrick’s cock is thicker and just a little bit longer, but they look good together, thrusting into the grip of his right hand, working together. 

“I’m gonna…” Patrick says, bucking against him hard and then he’s coming between them, all over Jon’s knuckles, slicking up his grip further, making the slap slap of his palm as he rewrapped his fingers around himself that much more crude. Patrick draws his head down, kissing him as he tightens his own fist around Jon’s, working him the last of the way there. He comes thinking about thrusting into Patrick’s body rather than the tunnel of their hands, or maybe Patrick thrusting inside him. It’s all so upside down and backwards in his head now. There are times he doesn’t know where Patrick ends and he begins. 

_Is it too early to say I love you?_ he thinks blearily as his breath is returning to normal, still stretched out above Patrick. He blinks his tightly shut eyes back open and meets Patrick’s gaze, what he can see there, he knows it doesn’t have to be said. 

“Guess you didn’t hate it,” Patrick says lightly when Jon rolls onto his back beside him. 

“You neither,” Jon replies. 

“Eh,” Patrick seesaws his hand back and forth. 

If he expects Jon to rise to the bait he’s going to be disappointed. Jon gives him a pointed look, trailing his fingers through the come still painted up Patrick’s abs, smearing it into his skin. 

“How long was that?” he whispers into Patrick’s ear, nipping it. “Two minutes tops?”

“Oh, shut up.” 

“Make me,” Jon replies. 

“Maybe I will!” Patrick says, rolling on top of him. It’s like being teenagers in their room again, wrestling for the remote or the bed or god knows what. “Maybe I will.” 

Patrick bends his head and kisses Jon deep and slow. When he pulls away, Jon chases after, nuzzling their noses together until their mouths meet back up. It’s late and they both need to get food in them and definitely take another shower. And yet somehow he doesn’t foresee himself getting out of this bed any time soon. 

“Did you ever see yourself here?” Patrick asks later, lying next to Jon, his eyes trained on the ceiling, just when Jon thought he was falling asleep. 

“No, but I probably should have," Jon says as Patrick turns his head. “It was always you.”


	2. Driving Stick

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jonny decides it's time they get down to business.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This would not exist if I hadn't been talking to turningterrific about my million WIPS and then somehow ended up on the subject of really wanting to write first time anal sex in this verse that I wrote last year. She helped me brainstorm the whole thing and even beta'd for me, so thank you, lady. Glad you were here in my hour of need, lol.

You don’t go from being in years long repression and denial about your attraction to a dude to gay porn boning overnight. This thing they have, for all that it feels omnipresent and endless, is new and fragile. Jon feels rock solid and he’s always been willing to bet big, but it’s barely been a month, and they’re about to get their asses officially eliminated from the playoffs. Patrick’s going to get unfairly flagellated about that and his play enough by his dad, which is not something they talk about. There’s a lot going on for them. 

But that doesn’t mean Jon’s forgotten the ever-present complicated issue of whether or not someone’s willing to get their ass fucked. The sex they have, which is barely more than Jon was doing as a teenager, is good. It’s early and they’re still hot enough for each other that pretty much anything will do, and they’re both fucking tired all the time from the grind of the season and the emotional ringer it’s putting them both through, but Jon’s starting to miss the intimacy of penetration. He feels as close as he possibly can to another person as he does to Patrick, but they haven’t crossed the Rubicon yet, and he wants to. 

They need to just have a conversation about it. Jon’s almost 30, too old to not articulate what he wants and how to ask for it. Which is exactly what he decides to do when they’re heading back to his place after skate and a quick lunch. 

“So, are you going to fuck me?” he asks casually as they’re making their way down lower Wacker. Kaner nearly serves into a retaining wall and Jon can’t help cracking up. 

“Fuck, man,” Patrick cries, hands tight on the steering wheel, “warn a guy.” 

“Okay, here’s my warning, do you want to fuck me?” he says, enunciating the last six words slowly and deliberately. “Possibly tonight?” 

Patrick shoots him a quick incredulous glance. “Like I’m going to say no?” 

“It’s just a little involved, so I thought we should go over it.” 

Jon watches the corners of Patrick’s lips turn up into a smirk that is both charming and alarmingly attractive. “Oh I know what it involves.” He drags his top teeth over his lower lip like he’s already picturing it. 

Patrick doesn’t waste time asking if he’s sure. “Tonight?” he asks as they turn into Jon’s parking garage. 

“Yeah, tonight, we don’t have anything tomorrow so I figure if you’re a disaster, I’ll have time to recover.” 

Patrick pulls into one of Jon’s two assigned parking spaces with a scoff. He turns off the engine and rakes his eyes up and down Jon’s body in a way that makes Jon’s gut flip. “You know it won’t be a disaster.” 

He replies a moment too late. “Do I though?” 

Patrick laughs and doesn’t rise to the bait. “So tonight?” 

“Tonight.” 

“Mmm,” Patrick says, “God, I feel old. Making plans to have sex.” 

“Just giving you time to draft your play,” Jon replies, swinging himself out of the car with his bag over his shoulder. 

“Oh I got you covered,” Patrick says, pushing his door closed with an emphatic snap almost like punctuation. 

Jon looks back over his shoulders and catches Patrick staring at his ass. 

“Getting a little confident back there,” Jon replies as they step into the elevator. 

Patrick leans back against the side, a slouch designed to bring Jon’s eyes to his cock in his pants. “I’m good at it,” he says softly, the jokey semi-combative rapport they often sport between them disappearing. 

Jon finds himself looking away and shifting his feet, fighting the urge to clear his throat, because Patrick looking like that, speaking in that tone of voice is almost overwhelming. God, has Jon ever felt like this about anyone?

“You sure you wanna wait until tonight?” Patrick asks when the elevator hits Jon’s floor. 

“Have to, I’ve got a radio interview at 3 and a conference call with Green Bronx Machine after that.” 

Patrick sighs like the few hours he’ll have to wait are paining him. “I’m gonna take a nap then,” he says easily, toeing off his shoes and dropping his bag by the door. 

“Of course,” Jon replies with a laugh, “you’ll need your strength for later.” 

Patrick flicks him off without looking back as he disappears into Jon’s bedroom. 

*

The thing is, Jon had planned to have dinner first, maybe watch a movie, just to set the mood. He spends his entire radio interview distracted, and the call that follows is no better. When he’s finished, he finds Kaner in the kitchen shirtless and rumpled using the sodastream. He’s wearing a pair of Jon’s softest sweatpants, chain glinting in the kitchen’s track lighting as he absently rubs a hand over the center of his chest. It stops Jon dead in his tracks and he has to just take it in for a moment, the thick shoulders and taut biceps, the vulnerable divot down his back disappearing below his waist band right at the swell of his ass, muscles moving so beautifully under his skin. When Patrick turns and sees him staring, he brightens up in an uncharacteristic flush. 

“Jon,” he says, “if you keep looking at me like that, you can forget about waiting until later.” 

“Good idea,” Jon says hoarsely, watching Patrick’s eyes flare up with heat when he realizes what Jon means. 

He comes over with his glass of seltzer in one hand and raises up to press a kiss to Jon’s lips. “So question, you done anything back there?” 

“Yeah,” he says simply, unable to admit just how much he’s been thinking about this. He’s experimented enough with his other partners to have a good idea he’s into whatever’s going on down there as long as Patrick isn’t a flat-out terrible lay, but Jon’s also taken the lay of the land with his own fingers and some lube. Patrick’s cock is big, which does give him pause, but since Patrick himself hasn’t expressed concern over it, he figures it’ll be alright. 

Patrick smiles at him like he can see behind Jon’s eyes to his whole thought process, and Jon kisses him again to avoid that x-ray gaze. Patrick always kisses like it’s all he ever wants or needs, throwing himself into it with an abandon that leaves Jon breathless every time. 

“Let’s go to bed, yeah?” Jon says, stepping back and taking the glass from Patrick’s hand before they can get carried away and wind up with a repeat of their first hookup with spilled drinks on the floor. 

He strips as he makes his way to the bedroom, walking ahead of Patrick because he needs a moment to himself without those all-seeing blue eyes laying him bare. Patrick follows a pace or two behind, his gaze intent on Jon’s ass, cock already starting to chub up noticeably in his sweats. 

“How do you want to do this?” Jon asks when he’s down to his boxer briefs, rummaging around in the night stand for the lube he purchased off of Amazon a few weeks back after an evening of intrigued research. 

Patrick holds up his middle and index fingers barely holding back a mischievous grin. “Look about right?” 

Jon rolls his eyes.

“Give it here,” Patrick says holding his hand out for the lube, “If you were a chick I’d go down on you or get you off with my fingers before I fucked you. Especially if you were letting me fuck you in the ass.” 

“What a gentleman, eh,” Jon says as he lays himself down on the bed and shoves his underwear down his thighs. Patrick eyes pass over his slowly swelling cock on locker room reflex, like he’s still not allowed to look. Jon sees the exact moment he remembers and deliberately drags them back again.

“You know, I’d think you were circumcised if I hadn’t seen you soft,” Patrick says. 

Jon laughs. “Yeah, that’s how it works when I’m turned on.” 

“Good sign then,” Patrick says, lowering himself to the bed at Jon’s hip. 

“Guess so,” Jon says lifting his head for a kiss that Patrick returns. One-handed and distracted as he is, Patrick deftly flicks open the lube and by some Kane magic, manages to get his fingers slicked up. 

“How?” Jon says, pulling his mouth away. 

“Practice, baby,” Patrick says, self-assured to the point of smugness. “Now spread ‘em.” 

It should be irritating, but the way Patrick wears his arrogance has always been charming. Nevertheless, while it’s hot, it feels distancing in this moment. Jon wants him here with him, comfortable enough not to retreat behind wisecracks. 

He parts his thighs easily enough, even as he says, “I’m not an opposing team you’ve gotta conquer.” 

“Oh, Jonny,” Patrick says, soft and intimate, skimming his lips over Jon’s. “Don’t you know? I don’t wanna beat you, I wanna earn you.” 

Jon’s breath catches in his throat, his eyes prickling a little at the corners, from the sudden onslaught of feelings. He struggles with compliments at the best of times, but when it comes from Patrick it’s nearly overwhelming. “You have,” he says, hoarsely, “a thousand times you have.” 

Patrick kisses him again, this time doing a soft pass over Jon’s hole with his slick fingertips, before tapping his fingers gently against it like he’s waiting for something. Jon feels his hole contracting and then relaxing almost against his will and without hesitation, Patrick confidently slides both fingers inside. 

Patrick cups his jaw, kissing him even deeper, before pulling away to ask, “You good? Too fast?”

“I’m good,” Jon says, and clenches down on his fingers to show he means it. Patrick’s being gentler with him than he would be with himself. 

“Fuck, Jonny,” Patrick says. “Lemme just…” He moves between Jon’s thighs and lubes up his fingers again, forcing more of the slick inside him. He keeps it up until Jon feels like he might die. His cock is heavy, hard, and insistent against his belly, and he can see inside Patrick’s sweats he’s not exactly unaffected himself. 

“Peeks,” Jon says, pausing to let out a breath when Patrick brushes delicately past his prostate for the umpteenth time. “You gotta trust me when I say I can take it.” 

Patrick stills his hand and sits back. “Yeah?” 

Jon nods. 

“Okay, I have to ask, do you want to use a condom?” 

Jon blinks up at him. “Uh, did you fake that clean STD panel?” 

“That would take greater photoshop skills than I have,” Patrick replies with a smile. They can both imagine the jacked up MS Paint version he’d manage. “That’s not why, just,” he raises his brows meaningfully, “think about it.”

Jon stares at him for a long moment. Why the fuck would he want Patrick to use one? He’s a dude, coming in someone bare is one of the best feelings in the world. 

“Oh, oh,” Jon replies with sudden comprehension. Patrick’s worried about how Jon will feel about his come leaking out later. He shakes his head with a laugh. “You couldn’t just say, ‘Jon, are you chill with my load in your ass?’”

Patrick pulls a face. “Seems, I dunno, kinda vulgar and disrespectful.” 

“I’ve heard you say the nastiest shit,” Jon points out. 

“Yes, but not to you, not _about_ you,” he says fervently, like he’s trying to tell Jon something important. 

Jon’s heart almost can’t take it, and he sits up to tangle his hands in Patrick’s hair, dragging him into a kiss, before saying fiercely, “No, you’re not going to use a condom.” 

The first thing Patrick says when he gets inside is, “Fuck, shoulda worn the condom.” His brows are scrunched up like he’s in pain. “Holy Mary, mother of god, you’re tight.” 

Jon, lying on his back with Patrick barely past the tip inside him, bursts out laughing. 

“No laughing,” Patrick says, forehead dipping down to Jon’s shoulder. “Laughing makes it worse.” 

“I’m sorry,” Jon says, doing his best to look contrite, and then deliberately shifts his hips, enjoying Patrick’s deep groan. “Glad you’re enjoying yourself.” 

Patrick lifts himself back up then and looks down at him with a slightly evil gleam in his eyes. “You’re gonna rue the day, Toews.” 

He pulls back out and then rocks back in, once, twice, three times, working up to a rhythm. Brow furrowing in concentration, liking he’s thinking through a difficult play. He grabs one of Jon’s thighs and hoists it up over his shoulder. 

“Okay?” he asks, waiting for Jon’s nod before he starts moving again. 

It changes the entire angle so that his cock is running into Jon’s prostate headlong with every thrust inside. 

“Ahah,” he says triumphantly when Jon cries out and arches underneath him. 

“This is the weirdest fuck I’ve ever had,” Jon breathes, “and not just for the obvious reasons.” 

“How many people you fucked that you’ve known since you were 13?” Patrick asks. 

“You’d feel real stupid if I came back with a number like five,” Jon snarks back, some of the effect lost under his own harsh breathing. 

“I’d just know it’d be a lie,” Patrick says, “because I know you.” 

“Not everything,” Jon says. 

“Tell me,” Patrick says teasingly and thrusts in with enough force to make Jon shudder. “What don’t I know about you?” 

Any reply is lost to Jon, who can’t think past the steady stroke of Patrick’s dick inside, getting him just the right way every time. It’s everything. Patrick’s body flexing over him and in him, his smell, the sooty crescents of his lashes against his cheeks from where he’s shut his eyes to concentrate. The fact that he knows he loves Patrick, but hasn’t found the right time to tell him. That they work together so perfectly even here. 

“Fuck, you feel good,” Patrick tells him and Jon doesn’t have a reply to that either. 

When Patrick gets his palm on his dick it’s all over. Jon comes after only a few tight jerks of his hand, ass clamping down on Patrick’s cock so hard it’s almost too much. It seems endless, spasm after spasm going through his dick, jetting out more come than he’s ever seen. Patrick stills above him, riding it out until Jon stops shaking. 

Jon’s entire body vibrates, and he’s breathing out in huffing gasps like he just finished a race. After a moment, Patrick shifts to pull out, but Jon won’t, perhaps can’t, let him, wrapping his entire body around him to keep him there. 

“It’ll be uncomfortable if I keep going now,” Patrick protests. 

“Fuck that noise,” Jon scoffs and pulls him in tighter. 

“Okay, Jonny, okay,” Patrick says. He pushes himself up onto his palms though to look down at him, like he’s going to track Jon’s face for any sign of distress he might try to hide. The effect is disconcerting, being looked at that way by those bright blue eyes he’s loved so long. He shuts his own against it, thighs clenching tight. 

Uncomfortable is exactly the right word to describe what it feels like for Patrick to keep fucking him after his orgasm, but Jon can handle uncomfortable. More than half of what he does to make his money makes him _extremely_ uncomfortable. But it’s always worth the reward. 

Patrick mutters, “I can barely…” he interrupts himself with a deep groan, thrusting in hard one last time and stilling as he empties himself deep in Jon’s ass. It’s a weird experience, feeling that warm flutter of come hitting his insides, and even though his ass is _sore_ and he feels like he’ll never get it up again, his cock gives an interested twitch. 

Patrick slowly, slowly pulls out and collapses on the first free spot of bed on Jon’s left side. 

“Wow,” he says after a long pause, lashes fluttering. 

Jon doesn’t have anything better to add, so he rolls over and kisses him, tangling their hands together. They lie like that, trading slow languorous kisses, until they’re interrupted by Jon’s stomach rumbling. 

Patrick chuckles and leans over the side of the bed to pull on his sweatpants. “You want me to order out? Sushi maybe?” 

He’s searching for his phone when Jon reaches out to catch his hand again. Patrick looks down at him in surprise and he seems like he’s going to ask if Jon’s okay, so he swipes his thumb gently across the back of his hand and interrupts him, “I love you.” 

Patrick pauses and sits back down at his side. “I know, although I don’t always know why.” Jon opens his mouth to protest, because Patrick tries so hard to be everything to everybody, often overlooking his own needs and value in the process, but Patrick pushes on before he can say anything. “I love you too, always have.” 

Jon traces over the capable lines of his fingers. “It’s really all that matters.” 

“I want to move in,” Patrick says in a rush, like he’s worried Jon will say no. “I’m here all the time anyway, and—yeah.” 

“We’ll have to tell your parents something,” Jon says. “To explain it.” 

“My mom’ll be fine,” Patrick says, and then he sighs. “But yeah, I should probably tell her first to see what she says I should do about my dad.” 

“I’m sure we can come up with some preposterous skills and conditioning related excuse,” Jon jokes and then presses his mouth to Patrick’s knuckles. 

“I _want_ to tell him,” Patrick stresses, “but…”

“Peeks, I don’t care,” Jon cuts him off, “I really don’t. This is difficult and I will support you in whatever decision you make.” 

Patrick doesn’t meet his eyes, looking instead at their clasped hands, but Jon spies the hint of a smile. He clears his throat. “So, sushi?” 

“Whatever, just let me get a shower, I’m kind of a mess.” 

“Yeah, you are,” Patrick says with a wolfish grin, eyes dropping to his own come smearing up the insides of Jon’s thighs. “But it’s a good look.” 

“You’re just begging for payback,” Jon tells him mildly as he heads out the door. 

Patrick flashes him a grin over his shoulder. “Have you got it in you?” he says, smacking his own ass cheek like a dare, before disappearing into the kitchen. 

Jon rolls his eyes, but it’s fond, and it’s been 17 years—he’s helpless to feel anything else.


End file.
